One Way
by Nielawen
Summary: The Clone Wars are on. One battle. One STEEEAAAMY sequence *giggle*. And then a chapter with an ugly guy *mumble* Hate you Palpatine. That's as sensible as I can get considering how giddy I am, hehe. It'll be good, I can guarantee that. Rated R for A/A go
1. Berchest

A/N: This story will include 3 chapters— 2 are complete, but the last will depend on the feedback I get. So will chapter 2, but let it be known, it IS finished. I wasn't sure about the genre on this baby, but I got pretty close I suppose. I wrote both of the two chapters as separate stories. I just fixed them up a smidge so they fit… at least I think they do!! If they don't, there's the reason why. I got the inspiration for this first chapter through a short story called "The Sniper". Irrelevant… OH WELL! ;) But I also wanted sexy Anakin to kick some ass… just a bit, just a bit. Mmmm… Hayden… Ooo! Steaminess in chapter 2! WOOHOO! 

ANYway… Hope it's good!

DISCLAIMER: I OBVIOUSLY don't own Star Wars. This disclaimer pertains to this chapter and those that will follow.

One Way

The long night had finally begun to fade into the twilight of morning. The smoldering rocky edges of high cliff-sides and deep, dusty trenches lay enveloped in a cold mist of breezy, silent winds of passing rain showers. The light was dim, coming only from the distant sun below the horizon— everything seemed eerily dead. But here and there throughout the huge trench, encircled by the hardened brown soil of Berchest, machine blasters and shock rifles broke the silence of early morning. At times it was distant, considering the diameter of the trench, and other times it was too close for comfort. The spasmodic fires were always startling.

            Lying low on the hard ground and leaned up against a piece of airship fuselage debris, Anakin fingered his comlink while keeping mindfully focused to his senses and the Force. He was mainly concerned on what lied behind him. One thing was for sure— he knew better than to risk a brief second peering around his protective shield for curiosity's sake, and remained huddled low in the dust for the sake of his life rather than curiosity.

            His device had suffered some damage under his intense movements and dives amongst the war-torn pit. As he inspected it, he stared into the face of a dead Clone Trooper's helmet. Wherever he looked, he got a sickly feeling in the pit of his stomach. Many corpses were scattered all over the trench, but most had only died while trying to enter the underground base to safety. That, Anakin reflected in subtle despair, was where hell lay— the wide open dust field behind him that was only several meters to the entrance.

            He attempted to work the device. "Hello?" He squeezed it, forcing himself not to scream. Where was that damn soldier who had been given strict orders to cover him? "Lieutenant, do you read? This is Commander Anakin Skywalker in need of assistance and enemy casualties… Hello? Anybody?" He listened for a response, and got nothing but disturbed static. A tiny spark flew from the comlink, causing him to flinch. Furiously throwing the broken device in front of him, he punched at the ground and settled his head back against the ship debris. "What am I doing here?" he muttered to himself in frustration.

            In a small group, he and a few Clone Troopers had safely ventured across the dusty plains to the retreat pit. A surprise ambush of masked snipers and gunmen had finished off their group nicely in a matter of seconds, leaving him with only two fellow Republicans. Just before Anakin had discovered a good place to take shelter from the surprise enemy attack, one more was down, and his "loyal" lieutenant had vanished without word.

            He crawled low along the edge of fuselage scrap, and briefly peered around the edge as far as his left eye would see around.

            In a quick parsec, a streak of red light rushed past his head. Cursing aloud and returning to his safe spot behind the scrap, he breathed harder at his near deadly situation. His feelings had told him the dangers of it. Of course, he hardly paid attention to them, which he had been numerously told was completely dimwitted. 

            "Commander?"

            Anakin glanced to his left where the calling voice had come from. It came from behind. "Lieutenant?" Indeed, it was him. "What happened? And where have you been?"

            "The sniper's are active, Sir. I couldn't." There was a pause, no doubt for cautious reasons. "I was unsure if you were alive, until they shot and I heard you curse."

            "Of course I'm alive. Why wouldn't I be?" he shot back bitterly— arrogantly—, but this time in a loud whisper. "Where are they located?"

            "Two behind the large ridge facing north, one on the north-west side, and one more over…" There was a perplexed halt. "There was a sniper just in the eye's view over to the—"

            A pained and horrified groan sounded from behind, and there was no other word from his informer.

            "Lieutenant!" As his feelings informed him, danger lurked near, and right away, came leaping around the corner.

            Anakin's lightsaber ignited to life, and the rifleman's shot was deflected back to him. With a sickening hiss, the blast scorched a hole directly between the Berchest native's squinty eyes, and he fell with his rifle plummeting just a mere foot from where Anakin perched. His weapon was already deactivated.

            Finally he gave into his diminished tolerance. Kneeling as much as his height would allow, he threw off his soiled black robe, tossing it into a furious heap on the ground as dust and ash billowed up from the heavy material. He quickly snatched the blaster rifle with is right hand, and fingered the handle in an adjusting hold. 

As he waited to decide whether to make a move or wait, he examined his mechanical arm, glistening in what little light there was. That could be a problem, he reflected. Useless piece of…

He observed the silence that bathed him and his surroundings. 

Stupid fellows. Did they know they were dealing with a Jedi? What were they trying to do? Fool him?

He couldn't help but snicker knowingly. 

            No doubt, they enemy wanted him out. But surely they already learned what pathetic sacrifice they had just made. Now they were beckoning him out. He could feel them, even with their great distance apart. They were angry. But he was angrier. There was definitely a ranging difference as to the heights of rage a mindless alien rebel group could accomplish as in comparison to Anakin Skywalker.

            At a time like now, he reflected in amusement with himself, his rage would do some good. It was amazing how much stronger it made him feel. He felt invincible as his fury led him on when he fought. 

            He eyed the blaster, and realized he had never used one in his life. It was his only option— his lightsaber couldn't be wielded quickly enough to deflect the numerous, much stronger rifle shots that blasted from places he wasn't yet aware of. 

            Force, was he tired of waiting. He needed some leisurely fun…

            Reaching through a closer observation of the weapon with the Force, the blaster proved to be almost completely out of ammo. Three shots, maybe two, were all he had left.

            He shook his head, thinking beyond thoughts of uncertainty. No way. He was going home. He would kill every one of the disgustingly pathetic aliens if he had to… If there was one thing he didn't do, it was surrender.

            Anakin closed his eyes and concentrated hard. He felt their strong presence all around him. Weakness. A tinge of fear, anxiety.

            He followed these thoughts, and was directed to a secluded rock crevice in the cliff, high above the ground but nearest to ground level.

            Excitement welled up inside of him. 

            You first.

            With astonishing precision and speed, Anakin reached around the debris, guided by his mind, and fired a blast of crimson light to a high place in the cliff side. Alarm rang out almost instantly, and guns went off in all directions. Anakin chided as he veered behind the debris for cover.

            Why hadn't he ever tried one of these things before? The impact of the rifle in his hand was glorious, powerful. The vibration of heat had surged through his artificial limb and sent a shiver of thrill up his spine. Incredible…

            One or two shots left— it didn't matter. He was having fun, and he wanted more.

            He concentrated again. They were easier to find than before, since havoc broke out the instant he hit his intended target. He found two of them, but there were still three or four of them still masked in darkness, hiding, waiting…

            Hauling his right arm over the top of the fuselage, he shot at a place nearest to the ground, and another between the surface of the pit and ground level. His accuracy was brilliant.

            He pulled away at the last minute, missing a blast to the shoulder. But that didn't stop him from bursting out with laughter. He was actually starting to pity the poor unknowing souls.

            Something caught his attention and stopped him in the middle of his gleeful moment. Three individuals were emerging from the door to the base…

            Reaching through the force he identified the three Jedi— Kit Fisto, Pablo-Jill, and of course his Master, Obi-Wan. They were searching for him with the Force also.

            _Behind the fuselage_, he sent.

            _Enemy casualties? _Obi-Wan replied almost instantly.

            He searched his surroundings once more to be sure. _Three. All armed with heavy machinery._

_            Wait for us. We're coming out—_

"No!" he shouted. He cursed at himself for the risky outburst. _I can take the risk_.

            There was silent hesitation from all three of the Jedi Masters.

            _I can, Master._

_            We have you covered._

_            No need. _With a cocky smirk, Anakin tossed the empty rifle and ignited his lightsaber, emerging from the debris, his robe slung over his shoulder. Blasts of light shot from two different directions, indicating that two riflemen had grouped together in one spot. Even better, he thought to himself.

            He deflected all of the shots easily, but the trick now was to hit the targets. It took all the best maneuvering skills he knew, but his movements were swift and strong, and in moments, two were down. The last of the three was shooting aimlessly now, cowering at the same time he was trying to be a good soldier. Any good fighter knew the two didn't mix— but then, these were tribal fighters. Even with sophisticated machinery, they were poor excuses for warriors.

            Deactivating his weapon, Anakin threw his hand out in front of him. From it emerged a powerful Force blast that sent the enemy tumbling backwards, his heavy rifle crushing him.

            Anakin returned his lightsaber to his utility belt, striding casually to the bunker's entrance. He shot his Master a knowing smile.

            "See? Everything was under control."

            Obi-Wan frowned. "Then I won't ask how you got in this mess in the first place."

            As they entered the base as a quartet, Anakin continued to protest defiantly. "We were ambushed, Master. Most of the Troopers died in the first attack, then one more—"

            "And the Lieutenant?"

            "He ran!" He adjusted his sleeves. "… Then they got him, too."

            Pablo-Jill nodded his head. He wisely sensed another dispute and chose to break it up prior to a dangerous feud. "That is fine. All of the Troopers fought honorably. As did you, Skywalker."

            Anakin smiled. "Thank you, Master."

            "You could have been hurt, trying to take on the snipers on your own!" Obi-Wan scolded. "Even killed. And I'd be responsible."

            "I was waiting for that," Anakin mumbled. He stared straight ahead as he walked. "Why can't you at least admit I did a good job? Because I did. Better than you could have done."

            Obi-Wan stopped in mid-step. The expression on his face was one that Anakin hadn't seen in awhile, and with that, he knew he'd pushed it pretty far. It was no longer a scolding one, but one of hatred. Anakin wondered if it was simply frustration— a full month of killing and risking being killed drained a person.

            And he wondered if he was actually _hoping_ that's what it was, and not hatred.

            "You should gather your spare belongings," Kit Fisto interjected before either of the men could retort. "Now."

            Nodding, Anakin looked the glaring Jedi up and down before striding down the weak, artificially lit corridor. As he disappeared around the corner, Obi-Wan still stared after him. Finally, when his Padawan's very presence was too far to be reached, he threw his hands to his face, ready to claw at his own flesh and literally welcome the rushing blood.

            "You keep faith in him," Pablo-Jill reminded him softly but urgently, placing a reassuring hand on his colleague's shoulder.

            "He's facing difficult times, too," Kit Fisto added.

            Obi-Wan rubbed his eyes before looking into the dingy halls ahead. His pressure had been so intense that he was seeing black spots. "Somehow… it isn't me I'm so concerned about anymore. My tolerance isn't a danger—but his…"

            He left it at that.

            The engines of the Republican gunship blared in the faint light of morning, roaring vigorously and displaying massive power with its monstrous, deafening sound alone.

            Anakin slung what little possessions he had over his shoulder, all in which were contained within a simple bad of thick, brown, foreign material. That, alone, was already showing some wear-and-tear, bearing small holes and even a few patches Anakin had sewn on himself. Inside, all he had was a soiled pile of numerously worn-out sets of clothing. 

His sweeping robe and loose attire blew from the ship's propeller's force, and he felt invigorated by the very feeling of it. His sixth-sense, the queasy feeling of the Force communing with him, alerted him of a nearby presence as he was walking to his transportation.

Obi-Wan, dressed in his basic beige tunic, stopped at his heals from a brisk run. 

"What are you doing here?" Anakin shouted over the engine's roar.

"Where are you leaving to?"

Anakin hesitated, grudgingly. "Coruscant. Listen, you said I was permitted—"

"I have said, and done, a lot of things in my lifetime." His tone was dangerously calm. "Call it regret."

Anakin shook his head, and turned his back to his Master, starting towards the ship. Obi-Wan's hand came upon his arm, forcing him to look back.

"I'm willing to congratulate you on your successful mission. But it isn't finished yet. You're not to leave the Temple when you arrive, I will be following close by."

Anakin pursed his lips, and looked into the sky. "Isn't that a bit contradictory…"

"Well you don't excel in everything you do," Obi-Wan continued flatly, still shouting over the noise.

"No! See, that's where you're wrong." He lifted a finger to his chest. "I don't fail— I never fail!" Despite the obstructive noise around them, his voice had been an obvious scream. "I am not going to let you bring me down to your level. I don't even need you."

The words had cut at Obi-Wan hard. He never imagined they could possibly hurt so bad. "And what are you going to do in Coruscant? 'Rendezvous' with the Senator?"

With that bitter, sarcastic smile Obi-Wan loathed so much, his Padawan nodded slowly but deliberately. "You bet." He turned to leave.

"She doesn't need you, Anakin! Wake up."

It took all the ignorance Anakin had welled up within him to aboard the ship without a reply. The Jedi had followed close behind, and was standing next to the ship. By this time, the two Jedi Knights that had accompanied Obi-Wan earlier were running out behind him, slowing as they sensed the tension. Anakin nodded to them respectfully, and then paid the same respect to his Master.

"It's untrue, Obi-Wan." He spat these words with a hateful hiss. The gunship rose from the ground, and though his last words were an almost inaudible shout, Obi-Wan heard the words clearer than he would have wanted. "If you'll pardon my absence Masters, my _wife_ is waiting for me."


	2. Sheathed

A/N: *giggle* steeeeeeaaaaaaamy!! This BETTER be good… it's the reason this story's rating isn't a PG! But it isn't incredibly detailed and icky. Carmen no write icky porno crap. But I wasn't sure what to rate this. I knew practically every term there was by age 11 (lol big sisters, gotta love them) so to me, PG13 would've been suitable!! But heck… just let me know how it is. Thanks for all the reviews, too!!!! That's like a record LOL I didn't think anybody liked my work, I never got more than 6 on any other story *sniffle* but YAY!!! Hehe…

It had first begun as an abrupt thrumming, like a mild force driven onto a strong, hollow surface. The trickling of water from the tub obscured clearer hearing, but Padmé knew something wasn't right. Despite the way her bathing quarters was shaped to make all sounds echo and others beyond unheard, she could hear the silent footsteps, and couldn't ignore the feeling in her gut that was warning her of danger. Someone was in her apartment.

            She rose from the tub, risking an accident by keeping her eyes peeled to both open doorways— one that led into her walk-in closet, the other into the foyer. All beyond those doorways was masked darkness, and she almost wished she could stay in the dim room where she stood, for that least bit of light. Her body chilled and dripping on the marble tile, she walked carefully to a sofa chair where a slinky gray nightgown was slung over the arm. The thin, almost transparent, material did little to settle the chills in her body, but was better than streaking.

            Her panic driven instincts brought her through her room first. Under her pillow, below her bed sheets, she drew out a small pistol, a finely made, yet lethal, weapon constructed of Aquilarus metal. The gun was small enough to fit in her petite hand, but despite its size, she felt safer. She strode cautiously to the foyer archway, reassuring herself that with one shot of the Corellian-traded device, her target— the intruder— would be fried from the inside before suffering a convulsion that would knock him senseless. 

            Him? It could be female, too, she reminded herself grimly. Neither gender was less lethal than the other.

            Padmé peered around the corner briefly, taking in a nervous breath as she prepared to step into an even darker territory. Her legs itched as droplets of water trickled down her skin. The silky gown, one that rose to only her thighs, was glued to her body, and she found herself feeling naked.

            The noises had stopped, she observed in silence, but the intruder's presence was near. Eyes were on her… somewhere. Someone was ready to lunge at her, and she feared tearing her eyes away from her blind trail ahead. There was some light, peeping through the thin gaps of the curtains over her windows. They were glaring lights from traffic in the byways of Coruscant that created horizontal shadows along the floor, dancing lively. With the falling snow, it was like a mystical illusion. At the moment, it was eerie, but with the silent, ghostly illusions, she was offered a helpful dosage of much needed light.

            Her heart suddenly jumped, beating three times to almost one hundred a second. There was a presence behind her, too quick and too strong for her to resist from.

            Two large, warm, calloused hands came in contact with her body. One grabbed her face, the other taking hold of the pistol held stiffly in her hand. The mysterious force was trying to pry her hands away from it.

            "Shhhh," a deep voice spoke. It was strange, totally unfamiliar. But oddly enough, even a stranger's voice would be easier to identity than this. It was something she could not comprehend. "Don't say a word. Drop it— drop the gun." It was a man, whispering harshly in her ear. 

            She struggled, but the stranger looming over her was much too strong. He wasn't trying to hurt her, but he held her firmly, and moved nearer to her body, almost rubbing against her.

            Her defiant protest was a painful one to her assailant. The attacker led out a low cry as his bitten hand dropped from her face. Padmé reached for the pistol, captured it. She aimed upwards, and pressed her finger against the trigger—

            Her hand went stiff. She was being held back, and her arm was being tugged to the side by an invisible force. Looking up at the tall, darkly clothed man, face masked in the shadows, she pleaded with terror in her eyes, and fought to be freed from the unknown chain. Her whimpers were suddenly loud in the silence as her hand was pulled away from good aim…

            The instant the forcing bondage was freed, a warm hand came upon her arm that grasped the pistol. And the voice was unveiled…

            "This isn't why I purchased that thing for you..."

            The pistol dropped, and her body fell limp for a split moment. Now that she knew his voice she knew his face, and saw it even in the darkness. Her jaw dropped for a moment as she looked up at the Jedi. Her jaw then clasped tight, and she threw her hand into the air.

            Padmé slapped Anakin across the face. And she wished for a moment that she had punched him unconscious, instead.

            After the gruesome, cracked echo had cleared from the room, Anakin looked back at her, rubbing his jaw line, frowning. "I was going to apologize… Too late, maybe?"

            It was then that she threw her arms around him, clasping the back of his robes, burying her face into his neck, or as far as she could reach considering his height. Her embrace grew tighter as she struggled to stand higher in his arms. He was so warm…

            "Or not," he chuckled.

            "You're a little too hopeful." She backed away, and adjusted her nightgown. Then, she glared up at him, and pointed an accusing finger. "I'm still very angry at you."

            He folded his hands in front of him beneath his sleeves, grinning, and nodding, unconvinced. 

            "I am!" She walked to her room, leaving him trailing behind. "Did you at least close the door behind you?"

            "Yes." He picked up the Corellian pistol, and watched in amusement as she trailed a number of wet footsteps on the luxurious blue carpet. Her small form disappeared around the corner. He spoke to her from the foyer. "Like I was saying, there was a purpose for this gun."

            "Yes— self-defense." Her tone was a little bitter, and terse. 

            He put her blame aside, and studied the gun in the palm of his hand. "I knew those security guards wouldn't hold up. I'm glad I got this for you."

            "But that isn't fair for the security. You're a Jedi."

            "Dooku was a Jedi."

            She didn't reply for a long while. He could sense her dying urge to argue— even just slightly. She, at last, decided to do just that. "Too bad I didn't use it… even if it was on you."

            "You were going to!" He smiled to himself auspiciously. "I guess I did a good job…"

            Padmé looked passed the doorway. "What?"

            He shook his head, and she vanished yet again, but not without taking his words into consideration. She would remind herself to take it up with him later.

Anakin walked into the fresher. Interested the moment he caught a glimpse of his beautiful wife, he leaned up against the doorway, taking in the 'splendid' image.

            She was nearly drenched. Her long curls had soaked her back, and the rest of her wet body had made the material tight and see through. At the moment, she was wrapping her hair in a towel. All the while, he found himself staring at her, wanting to touch her, feel her…

            "I'm glad you're back. Three weeks passed by slower than I could have imagined."

            "We fought well. I was called back to Coruscant a few days ago." He paused. "Master Yoda said I'm ready to take the trials. He wanted to take a pre-examination. Sparring. I wanted to contact you right away—"

            "Don't worry!" She leaned up and kissed him briefly on the lips. "Duties are important."

            Anakin entered her bedroom— their bedroom— and removed his robes. They were dirty, and felt even more soiled than they really were. He presumed that was because he knew where they'd been, and they really didn't show half of the disgust in which they had been worn. He tossed them into a heap on a sofa chair in the corner of the room, and missed. They plummeted heavily to the floor.

            "Pick that up."

            "Yup." Anakin collapsed onto the bed and folded his hands behind his head. He began to remove his boots, and Padmé was suddenly in the doorway. 

            She gazed at him suspiciously, but her smile couldn't be forced back. Knowing what he had was going to do, she shook her head in disapproval.

            Anakin groaned, and sat up to remove his boots— properly.

            "Set them in the fresher. I'll have Dormé clean them up for you."

            "Thanks." He grinned, seeing her still standing in front of him. Obviously, she disapproved of him still seated on the bed in his dirty attire. "My clothes are filthy, but I'm not. I swear."

            That was enough for her, she decided, and removed the towel from her hair. She gazed at herself in the long mirror, and wished she had her own bath robe to wrap around her visibly chilled body.

            Anakin had just taken off the last of his shirt layers when Padmé strode to the bedside where he sat. He peered up at her with concern. 

            "What's wrong?"

            "I don't want you to leave again."

            He gazed at the floor, wishing he could simply say he was staying, for good. At least In Coruscant. But he never lied to her before, and he wasn't about to start. There were surely many more dutiful missions of peace bringing— no, more like war— ahead of him.

            "I…"

            "Don't say it." She wrapped her arms around her body as a shiver ran through her. "I just needed to get that out of my system." She frowned, looked down upon herself, and turned away.

            "What else…?"

            She wasn't trying to be provocative, but her appearance made it look it. "I'm cold," she whispered.

            Anakin smiled, and took her hands in his. The nightgown was incredibly sirenic, and he wanted to tear it off her. Just looking at the slinky thing flowing so perfectly and gracefully against her curves was making him excitable. "You're dripping."

            She smirked with embarrassment— it was one of the few times she displayed such emotion. "Well, I'm wet. And…" She began to slowly inch closer to him, watching her feet as she did so. "It's been a long time since you held me." She ran her hands through his hair as she climbed onto his lap. "Warm me up," she whispered in his ear, and met his lips.

            Anakin took no time to think twice of what to do next. This was what he'd been craving for so long. Too damn long. He clung to her faster than a vicious Ansionian shanh to its prey— but just as fiercely. His hands ran freely up and down her body, his newfound thrill being the place upon her thighs. As he turned to focus on what he was doing, she began to kiss his neck, nibbling on his ear, and caressing his firm, built chest and arms.

            His hands trailed up her leg, slowly pulling up the silky fabric of the short dress and sneaking beneath it to feel further up her hips, waist...

            Moaning in response to his warm touch upon her skin, she started to squirm in his lap, rubbing between his legs and heaving herself closer into his body. The warmth that radiated from him was magnificent.

            Anakin clenched his teeth, losing concentration. He grasped her waist, hoping to end her torture upon him. "What are you trying to do to me?" he inquired desperately.

            Padmé met his eyes with a mere centimeter between their gazes. "What am I doing?"

            He closed his eyes, a crazed fire of lust threatening to spill over. "Bad things… very bad—" He couldn't take it anymore. With only the requirement of a little bit of his strength, he propelled her off his lap and laid her upon the bed. "You have sinister intentions—" He kissed her neck, and moved down to the grooves of her collarbone, tracing a path with the light touch of his fingers. "— Torturous deeds. Well, Senator…" He straddled her while slowly sliding his hand up her legs from beneath her alluring attire. He leaned close to her ear, and hissed, "It's my turn."

            She was in bliss. It was simply his touch that drove her wild. He caressed her body with a soft touch that sent a chilling sensation all over, touching the most sensitive places in the far inner parts of her thighs, along a trail over her abdomen— often lower— and around her waist, never really accessing her most private areas. By now, they were the areas she desperately wanted him to be teasing her, rather than the endless struggle for control he was putting her through. He was taking it slow, and enjoying her silent wails for more.

            His lips met with hers, and, finally, his fiery touch came upon her breasts. His hand was cupped firmly around them. He was satisfied with where he was positioned— all in all, wrapped in her legs and pressed closely to her body with his magical touch still in motion, he was in a perfect place for tease.

            His kiss, as always, grew deeper in fiery lust as he proceeded. All the while, he was pressing his lower body closer and closer, squirming between her entwined legs, and lifting the gown further up at a gruelingly patient speed.

            "I don't like your pace," she said as she familiarized his arousal at the hem of the skirt— now situated as far up her thigh as it would go. "Take it off," she moaned.

            His lips parted from hers for only a brief second, the need for air becoming more mandatory as their embrace deepened. He also felt he was using up most of his energy, through the Force, to stay in control and where he needed to remain until he could give way. Unbeknownst to her, the struggle was far more intense for him, and she was not suffering nearly as much.

            "Take it off…" she repeated, raising her voice as her moans deepened.

            "Not happening," he murmured against her lips.

            Amazingly, she managed to squirm out from beneath him faster than he would have imagined possible considering their closeness. Panting, he laid face down before turning over to… Well, he'd do something, but he was too relieved to be freed from his draining place atop her to really take note.

            Once he rolled over, she immediately got to work removing his trousers. But he was stronger…

            Grasping her waist, he pulled her into his lap, held her tighter than ever. "What are you doing?" 

            "Let me go, Anakin," she pleaded, almost growling furiously. Lust made her fierce, and even sexier.

            Still holding her waist with one of his toned arms, his other roamed to her breast, squeezing it with ferocity and not willing to halt the circular rubbing motion of his large hand. "Even now?"

            Padmé was close to tears. But her frustration drove her towards massive anger. She clenched her teeth and leaned her head back against his shoulder, unable to keep both her thoughts of erupting fury and raging delight in a stable, controlled place. And she was on the brink of losing all control… "I hate you," she moaned. Of course, it was a lie. A massive lie.

            "I love you. And I've missed you. Now it's time you see how much." He was removing his own trousers, and still holding her in place. How he did it with her struggling even more now was elusive. But he was finally doing it…

            Padmé fell against the bed covers, closing her eyes as though she were already in bliss. She finally had him— the only man she loved, and would ever love. Her husband. Her friend forever. 

            She was going to enjoy the moment for every second it was worth. Because how long she would have him was beyond her…

A/N

He He He… so that was the "steamy" chapter. I didn't want to get into TOO much detail— I even felt that I went a bit too far. Aw well, I liked writing this chapter ;) FOR GOOD REASONS, neh?

With good feedback, I'll get to the next chapter— the final chapter. DUN DUN!! Not so HOT, not so action packed. Unless you get the jollies from wrinkly creepy bastard Palpatine, who might I add, is a stinky old fart. And I HATE THAT GUY!!!!! AHHHHH!!!!! It'll be dramatic. That's what I'm aiming for! But there may be a delay. My semester is intense, so I'll try to get the last chapter up soon! I'll appreciate your patience!!!


	3. Justification

A/N: YES! Last chapter finally finished! It's been racking my brain for weeks, and I finally finished…

            To those who were disappointed with chapter two, I'm really sorry. That was the first time I ever attempted something like that, and like I told Darth Flirt, it was my "experiment". I hope this makes up for it. I incorporated a theory of Anakin's fall to the Dark Side that came from a message board at the official website. This sort of has an open ending…

            Hope you guys like it!

_Pain is inevitable._

_Suffering is optional._

            Padmé brushed her hands through his short hair, touching his skin, which, even in the harshest of atmospheres, could never be stripped of its softness. His rigid body lay motionless in her lap. For hours, they had sat together like this, lost in the image of the falling snow in the quiet city, succumbed by peaceful trances.

            All the while, she thought he was at peace. She was happy to assure herself of that.

            A high-pitched buzzer sounded in the bedroom, muffled but still audible. When seeing that he was not budging from his spot, Padmé patted his bare chest gently.

            "Ani," she whispered. "Your comlink."

            "I know," came the deep, and surprisingly abrupt answer. Anakin left his resting spot in her lap, and off the floor in which they had buried themselves in a thick quilt, seated on a rug of thick, wooly Bantha fur. His utility belt hung over the side of a chair, a clear view from where Padmé observed. 

            As he held the device in his fingers, his bare feet remained planted in the floor. He didn't move. Didn't speak. He didn't even breathe.

            "What is it?" Padmé dared to ask, but did so hesitantly.

            He slowly began to walk back to her, looking down at his hand and the little buzzer that still called for his attention. Instead of returning to his spot with her, he continued to the opposite window of the foyer, never peeling his eyes from his comlink.

            In the silence, all that was there was the faint, high ring. When it stopped at last, a deep voice, almost a mumble from her distance, spoke to Anakin.

            The message proceeded for several moments. And then it stopped. The speaker had not even finished, stopped abruptly in mid-sentence. In a brief second, the comlink was being hurled across the room, back into the bedroom in which it came.

            Padmé jumped slightly beneath the blanket. Anakin veered around to face her, and his eyes said all that was paining him.

            It was all there— fury and frustration, and even the slightest hint of sadness. He looked wounded, only it was distorted by the anger that was written all over his features. To add to that, his sharp breathing indicated just as much, his chest and broad shoulders rising and falling more visibly than normal.

            "They're waiting for me to come back." His voice cracked. "I have to leave again."

            Padmé nodded in understanding, but bowed her head in silence and wrapped the blanket further around her.

            "I'm sorry," he choked.

            "I know. You serve the Republic, I understand how it works."

            Anakin stormed into the bedroom. He returned moments later, his pile of clothing in his arms as he began to dress. 

            Padmé sensed his anger. "They need you."

            "They don't." He thrashed his boots on futilely. "Besides, I'm not going to the Temple."

            "Where are you going?"

            As he slipped on his numerous layers, he met eyes with her. "Guidance."

            She still didn't understand. "But… Obi-Wan—"

            "I've had enough of Obi-Wan," he snapped. "I'm done with him."

            "Anakin!" Padmé jumped to her feet.

            He inspected his belt, and adjusted his dangling lightsaber.

            Padmé's eyes wandered to the cylinder. "What happened on Berchest?"

            "Enough indication that _I don't need him_." He paused, and stood motionless. For a brief moment, he looked hurt. Of course, he brushed that away just as fast. "And that he doesn't want me."

            "No!" Padmé strode to him, looking puzzled in disbelief. Her eyes alone scolded him. "How could you say such a thing?"

            "He said it himself! Right to my face."

            She shook her head vigorously. "He loves you, Anakin!" She grasped his sleeve. "Like a father loves his son. And you know that." She turned her back to him, unable to watch him speak the words—hoping that they weren't coming from his mouth.

            "He's not my father." Anakin pulled his robe over his shoulders as he spoke softly, as much to himself as to Padmé. "I was always unsure where his faith lied. Did you know that he didn't even want to teach me? He was obligated." His voice choked once again. "That's what I was told. He never wanted me…" Feeling his emotions bearing down on him, he pursed his lips for a moment. "I hate him," he said softly.

            He rubbed his eyes as his vision blurred, out of no reason at all. He wasn't crying, even though he felt the urge to. He just couldn't, and that was all.

            When he looked up, he saw something that puzzled him. He rubbed them again, trying desperately to relinquish the blackness that enveloped around everything he saw— all but what lay in front of him. It was then that his mind began ringing aloud, pounding in his head like a deep heartbeat. He threw his hands to his head, grinding his teeth.

            His body felt warm suddenly. His flesh felt like fire, and his inside felt like molten lava. The heat inside of him was getting intense, and the horrific pain was gone, completely replaced by that enormous burning. He gripped the nearest sofa. 

            Suddenly it was as though everything became clear. He felt a sensation of control, just automatically. And hate… the anger welled up inside him so greatly that he didn't realize it was there. Clutching the sofa, his nails embedded in the fabric, he was wishing it was Obi-Wan's throat. He envisioned it. The painful cry, the desperate plea under his unmerciful hands, the limp frame that followed…

            He tore himself away, letting out a struggled yelp.

            Padmé acknowledged him, unable to discard her concern. Beads of sweet hung from Anakin's face, and he looked horrified. Terror was read in his eyes.

            "I…" He had to leave. He had to get help. Or was it too late? The last time he had felt like that was when he was twelve. And he murdered for the first time in his life. But even then, it had never been so intense. And Obi-Wan…

            Padmé's hand came upon his face. Not in a comforting way— her touch was gentle nonetheless— but in a manner of observation. "Good gods, Ani, you're burning up."

            Anakin met her eyes, feeling fatigued, dizzy, confused…

            Though he was making perfect eye contact with her, his attention appeared to be in some faraway place.

            "I need to see somebody," he said quietly, almost sadly. His eyes fell into an expression of sympathy, like he was near tears. "I'm sorry, I need some time. Please don't hate me." He cupped her chin in his hand. A wistful smile crept along his face. "You're so beautiful."

            With that, he walked to the door, moving calmly but still looking insecure and puzzled. As he passed through the doorway, he spoke without looking back. "Maybe it's time for change…"

            After that, her legs seemed to carry her, not her mind. Part of her was still standing at the sofa, watching him leave, while the other scurried to the nearest transmitter. She tapped in a code, fingers trembling. A small bulb lit up.

            "Obi-Wan if you're there," she breathed. She couldn't find the words…or maybe she didn't want to admit to them. "It's happened."

            "I didn't know who else to turn to. You're the only one who understands."

            Chancellor Palpatine turned away from the window. Striding calmly to where the young Jedi stood, he looked upon him with sympathy, and, Anakin noted, interest. There was something else written on his face, and it was an expression he'd never witnessed before. Not that it made him pensive— in fact, it gave him some confidence. Palpatine always listened, always understood, always looked for ways to help. And managed success. _Every time_.

            "I'm glad you came to me, Anakin." He put a sure hand on his shoulder. "Please. Sit. We have much to discuss."

            As he approached the nearest seat, he eyed the Chancellor in a puzzled way. "…We do?"

            Palpatine sat behind his large desk, looking superior in the morning glow. "Do you understand that there are incredible changes at hand? There are things occurring within the heart of the Republic— plans that will alter the shape of this galaxy?"

            "Well, yes. It's apparent with all the war that—"

            "No, no, Anakin," Palpatine shook his head impatiently. "There is more. Great things are about to happen." He lifted his chin proudly. "All in which I have conjured up myself."

            Anakin listened intently, for his advisor was the wisest and most ambitious of all the men he knew. He definitely looked up to him as an inspiration. But despite his interest, he was absentmindedly reflecting on the relevance of the topic. 

            "Chancellor, I don't mean to be impetuous, but I was hoping you could help—"

            "Help you." Palpatine closed his eyes in reflection, nodding with recognition. "Indeed, I was on the right track, my young one. Perhaps I should get to the point." His expression became solemn as he leaned forward in his seat, his voice deepening and speaking in a manner of secrecy. "You know you are gifted. I have watched you ever so carefully since you started to undergo training at the age of nine. Nobody recognizes or admires your abilities more than I. You will be the most remarkable being in the face of this galaxy."

            The words, like all other times, were greatly accepted by Anakin. Of course he knew that he was the greatest Jedi— no, Padawan, in the history of the Council. Over time, he had slowly diminished the habit of blushing, or merely denying it out of shyness. Yes, that was long ago. Now he observed every word, hearing and feeling the intensity rising within the heart of Palpatine's voice.

            "You don't even need anyone, Anakin. Consider me, though, as a real friend—"

            "Padmé," Anakin began slowly and clearly, subtly offended, "I need. I wish that you wouldn't put words into my mouth, Chancellor."

            Palpatine did not take it into offense. "Of course. Forgive me. I merely meant in the interest of… business."

            "Business?" Anakin echoed.

            "You are fed up with the system, aren't you, Anakin?" he inquired, enthusiasm evident in his voice.

            Anakin nodded. He was beginning to understand. "Are you suggesting we make a drastic change to the Republic?"

            "Oh yes." Palpatine liked that the Jedi Padawan was following along. 

            "With our wisdom, it's definitely possible." Anakin sat erect in his seat, considering in deep contemplation. "We can change it for the better I suppose. There isn't anything I'd want more. And I'm sure Padmé…" He stopped. "Padmé," he whispered in realization.

            "What is it about the Senator, Anakin?"

            "She's faithful to the Republic, regardless of the corruption." He looked up doubtfully. "Do you think she'd agree with change?"

            "Amidala does what is in the interest of the people. What is good for them. That is my sole purpose, to create something completely new. Something where all is done for the good of the people, but not decisive in their part. So things will get done the smart way. A fine leader's way."

            "Dictatorship," Anakin murmured to himself, reflecting on Padmé's disapproval on such an order of government. "Why?"

            "Because we can. You… and I."

            Anakin rose from his seat more abruptly than necessary. "No," he groaned. "But it's not right. It doesn't feel right." 

            "Perhaps it is necessary." Palpatine stood up as well. "Desperate times call for desperate measures. We both want a change in the Republic." He paused. "And the Order."

            "There's nothing we can do," Anakin muttered through his teeth. "You make me sound like I'm all powerful, that I can do _anything_! I can't!"

            "You can," he insisted. "Under my guidance, definitely.

            Anakin's heart beat rapidly, heat welling up inside. But he was calm— strangely placid. "So what you're telling me is that I should abandon the Order, and… partner up with you? Lose all chances I may have of becoming a Jedi?"

            "You like the treatment? The criticizing, the constant pressure, the _mistrust_? The jealousy…"

            Anakin's artificial limb trembled. His fingers twitched. "I… can't leave. It wouldn't feel right."

            "In time, when you come to realize you will not benefit any more from the Jedi, it will." Palpatine approached him slowly. 

            Anakin felt petrified on the spot, unable to move, to think clearly.

            "For the good of the people, Anakin. For you, Senator Amidala, your future family… Seize what was wrongfully taken from you. Your mother's death was caused by the injustice of this system, in places I had no control over. We want control. For the better." The man stood behind Anakin, close enough that he could feel his breathe against his neck. And in addition to that, he sensed the powerful surge of determination, confidence… malice?

            The next time the man spoke, his voice was distant. He stood at the window, looking out onto the bustling city world. "It will be where they least expect it… beneath their noses. One of their own, and possibly their greatest hope. There's more for you to learn. They shall teach it, and you will then be able to use it for your own benefit. I will teach you the rest."

            All the while, Anakin was staring down upon his lightsaber, glistening slightly as it dangled from his belt. _Seize what was wrongfully taken from you._

Grimly, he walked to the window, feeling unsure and vulnerable. But there was nothing he wanted more than justice.

            "Look up," Palpatine instructed.

            Up in the sky, the sun shone. Even though it was nearly broad daylight, what lay beyond was something immense. That was what he was indicating. The Galaxy, and beyond. Most of it could be his to command, he realized. But he wouldn't be manipulated easily— he would want a fair share, and the opportunity to seek out what he desired. He actually… liked the thought. Justice in his own hands.

            "Now, my apprentice." Palpatine, flattered by the appealing ring to the young man's title, pointed to the far stretch of the city, where structures that far away were only silhouetted in a faint light. Along the way were many buildings, towering mostly, but all in varying sizes and architecture. One stood out from the rest.

            It was open, symbolic, tranquil, and almost beautiful. To some eyes— Anakin's— it was a whole new image.

            As the two shared a knowing gaze upon the distant form of the Jedi Temple, Palpatine spoke. "There, we shall begin. But first, in honor of your acceptance, there is a duty I would so grandly love for you to uphold…"

            He paced slowly and steadily in the silence of the dark, taunted by anxiety, driven by the mad rush of adrenaline.

            Garbed in dark attire, he was part of the shadows, as swift and misleading as the very blackness that bathed him. In his mind, he saw a path. He no longer knew where he stood, but remaining focused on his senses and on keeping his presence cloaked, he journeyed silently down wide steps, around pillars, and across a floor of steel. He could feel his rival nearby— distant, but his sickening presence was clear.

            His arms swayed loosely beside him, his mechanical arm making the odd winding, hydraulic noise as he twiddled his fingers. Excitement welled up within him. He was virtually fearless. He had no doubt that he would get what he wanted. With this thought his anger grew, reflections of all that he had suffered for replayed in his mind.

            And he began to sing a tune in his head, remarkably keeping his senses focused all the while. A melody escaped his lips in a hum, murmuring the song and even managing to add in a few words.

            This was the song his mother always sang to him as a child. The song he had repeated on Ansion, bringing the presence of Shmi to him when he felt it was virtually impossible. The song he would never hear from his mother again…

            He eliminated singing the words, and pursing his lips, he continued humming to the melody. His voice echoed, and the song was eerie in the silence. There was a sense of confusion from behind the enormous pillar he rounded— it was very close.

            As he stepped into the open, so did his opponent. 

            He stood firmly, murmuring the song, feeling the intensity of the man standing numerous feet in front of him.

            "How… cunning of you to reveal yourself before me in such a way." There was a dry chuckle. "Foolish boy…"

            "What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us," Anakin said. He hummed to himself yet again, clasping his hands behind his back and pacing around, looking absentminded.

            More confusion. "I must say, I was not expecting the confrontation of a mere teenager. A defeated foe, in fact."

            "Consider it a rematch. I'm sure you saw it coming." He reached within his robes and unclipped his cylindrical weapon, but with the least bit of intimidation. "This 'mere teenager' has learned a few things. I have found myself a plan, discovered what fate may have in store for me. As the saying goes, 'do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail'. Now we get to see what fate has in store for you." He tossed the lightsaber in the air, veering around swiftly to face his opponent while capturing the weapon in his hand, igniting the blue blade to life. It whirled in the air above his head, waiting. The sapphire glow illuminated half his face, the other half shadowed in the darkness.

            On his opposite side, a red blade hummed in the withered, skilled hands of his foe.

            Twirling his weapon at his side, he raised the blue blade to his face in the formal way of challenge. "Tyranus."

            His opponent did the same. "When you fall this time, young Padawan, I can't guarantee that you'll walk away as easily."

            "That's right. I'll walk away a happy man." He paused. "Right over your dead body."

            Anakin darted through the darkness, hollering in all his fury, letting it lead him. It was a spectacle of agility and impressive displays of whirling light, struggled cries and raging intensity.

            Banked anger was threatening to spill over, an unconverted tumult of unimaginable strength, rising with each strike. And Anakin let it overpower him to victory.

            It ended too soon for his opponent. With a strangled cry, Darth Tyranus collapsed to the steel floor, bloody and wounded, while his much younger foe hovered over him, unharmed.

            The old man spoke in raspy breaths, still persisting his taunts. "You're full of fear, boy. You're weak."

            Anakin crouched down beside Tyranus' fallen body, lightsaber at his side and twitching with anticipation in his artificial hand. He eyed him with curiosity and seething hate. "I finally know what to do with my power. You saw it before. And you could've spared your own life to have given into it. You could have lead with us, you know." Tossing the lightsaber to his left hand, he threw his other arm in his face. "But consider this, yet. And now, you'll die." Throwing the lightsaber into the air once again, Anakin caught it with his right hand. So swift was his action that the Sith had no time to even yell out in pain.

            The blue blade was immersed into the side of his body, ripping through skin and bone, raising a stench of burning flesh into the air. The blade tore upwards in the same direction it had entered, slicing his enemies body in half. As it neared his throat, Anakin pulled away, deactivated his weapon, and clipped it to his belt.

            Wiping the beads of perspiration from his forehead, he stood to his feet, gazing down at the massacred body. All in his own doing, he reflected proudly.

            With a last look of satisfaction, Anakin scowled. "What an dishonorable way to die. That, is the death of a coward. What made you think for a moment that that would be my end…"

            Heavy footsteps echoed along the floor as he strode off. Approaching a corridor, his robes swirled behind him in the swift rush of air that followed his brisk pace. Humming his tune, Anakin Skywalker descended down the long winding steps… and descended into darkness.

THE END

(…let the havoc begin!)

-CF

A/N:

            Tell me know what you guys thought! I love input, even if it's mean, hehe. I can take it. 

            If any of you get the chance, check out my other SW fics! They're all short stories— just a thought! 

Thanks for reading, dudes! Happy Thanksgiving! WOOO! LONG WEEKEND!!!!!!!!


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